Mourning
by CantaneBahamas
Summary: Wesley mourns Fred's death. Illyria thinks he's taking too long. Illyria's POV. Set between "Shells" and "Underneath"


"You can take the couch" Wesley murmured, nodding toward the beat up sofa as they entered his apartment.

Illyria looked around cautiously, yet her every move was deliberate. "You dare to offer me comforts no better than a slave?" she sneered, glaring at the couch as though it had personally offended her.

Wesley sighed deeply, a low growl in his chest. He was not in the mood for this, and certaintly not from her. Not today. "Then sleep on the floor for all I care. Just leave me be"

"You said you would help me" Illyria reminded him.

 _"If I abide, you will help me?" she asked, a desperation in her voice that she was completely unfamiliar with._

 _"Yes" Wesley had agreed, his voice no more than a whisper._

 _Understanding flooded her face. This vessel is what motivated him. "Because I look like her?"_

 _Wesley glanced at her, tears threatening to fall. "Yes" he croaked._

Wesley's voice snapped her back to the present moment. "What was that?"

"I said I am tired. We will continue tomorrow." he repeated.

Illyria tilted her head, looking him up and down before nodding. "As you wish"

She watched as he walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, taking a long swig before going to his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

Not long after, she could hear him sobbing. The loud, choking, gutteral cries mixed in with the repeated shouting of her vessel's name annoyed her. She longed for him to drink himself to sleep so it might be peaceful once again.

* * *

He still has not gone back to work, she notes. She cannot help but wonder if humans were always this breakable. In her kingdom, such behavior would be seen as unfitting of a hero.

But there he sat, drinking more and more of that poison. On occasion, he would go out, muttering something to her about trying not to destroy the universe while he was gone. When he would return, he would bring yet more of the poison.

When he was intoxicated, he would scream at her and break the empty vials of poison against the wall. He would call her names such as "smurfette bitch" or other nonsensical words meant to hurt. But she could not hurt, she was not human. This did not seem to defer him from continuing.

After yelling at her, he would break down into tears, usually falling to the floor and repeating phrases like "please come back". She soon discovered that notifying him that this was impossible only angered him again, and that it was less annoying to simply let him say these words.

The phone would ring, but he would not answer. He would simply lay in his room, crying or drinking. It was not uncommon for him to be doing both simultaneously.

She contemplated whether it was a good idea to ask him for help. Perhaps she would have more success with... Angel, was it?

Still, she stayed. She did not know why, but she stayed.

* * *

"Be her" he pleaded. She knew exactly what he meant.

"I cannot" she replied simply. "I have told you this. The owner of this shell is gone"

"She's not-" he stopped, looking down as he tried not to cry- again. "She wasn't a shell. She was... I need this"

Illyria tilted her head. "And if I take the form of... Fred... this will please you?"

"Yes" he whispered, his voice cracking.

"As you wish" she agreed.

Suddenly she transformed. Blue became brown, and her red bodysuit became a white sundress. "Oh, Wesley. Don't cry, my love"

As soon as her hand caressed his cheek, he started shaking, his body wracked with sobs. "Oh Fred... I miss you so much"

"Oh, Wes... it's alright, I'm here now. Shh.." she wrapped her arms around him. "Everything's gonna be just fine"

"No... you're gone" he whimpered.

"Shhh, baby, I'm right here. See?" she kissed him gently.

Wesley pulled her closer, leaning into the kiss. He held tight, needing to convince himself it was her.

"I'm so lost without you" he said, breaking the kiss and leaning his forehead against hers.

"My love, I know. You'll get through this. You don't need to pretend with me, remember?" she smiled reassuringly and kissed him again.

She started unbuttoning his shirt. Wesley didn't stop her, he needed it to be real. He needed it to be okay.

He slipped off her dress and they stumbled to the bedroom.

Passion. So much passion, but also so much pain. Illyria could feel it. Yes, he was using her. Yes, she had skinned men alive for using her for their own pleasures in the past. But this was different. She didn't know what she was feeling- she was not built to feel. But she knew that he needed it.

After the intercourse, he curled up close to her. No, he curled up close to Fred, the vessel. So close that their skin touched. He did not speak, he simply lay there, holding her tightly like she was his lifeline. And perhaps the vessel was, in this moment, the only thing keeping him together.

He stayed like that for four hours- Illyria had perfect concept of time- before finally sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed. "Change back" he said brokenly. "Please, don't say anything, just... just change back and leave me be"

Illyria felt a pang in her chest. Humans would call it hurt. Yet, she nodded and changed back to her own form before leaving the room.

Seconds later, she heard the shower turn on. And for the first time since being in a human vessel, she felt her face become wet with tears.

* * *

Today was a bad day. That is how she had started to describe it. She could determine whether it was a good or bad day by if he went to work. He had started going for a few hours at a time. Sometimes he would even go a day without drinking. But not today.

Today he had not even come out of his room. He had been crying for the past few hours.

The concern she had begun to develop for him disgusted her. She was meant to be above something as arbitrary as emotion. And yet she cared. She could deny it no longer, at least to herself.

Her birthday was today. Winifred. She assumed this is what made him upset. Humans tend to hold value and importance to certain dates, and the date of which you were born seems to be included.

She had the overwhelming urge to do something to help. But what could she do? Seeing her only seemed to upset him.

She opened the door to his bedroom. The lights were off and the stench of whiskey and bourbon overwhelmed her. "Wesley?"

"Go away" he said in a hoarse voice.

"I wish to offer my assistance" she explained.

He chuckled coldly. "What could you possibly do?"

"I could be her" she offered.

"No" he said decisively. "Not again"

She tilted her head. "But you enjoyed it"

"I needed it, there's a difference" he said. "I don't need you pretending to be her. You're not her, and you never will be"

The disgust and disappointment in his voice hurt in a way that it hadn't no more than a week ago. This confused her, but she pushed it aside.

"I will not compete with a ghost any longer, Wesley. You agreed to help me, and what has transpired has been less than satisfying" she said.

"Then leave" he whispered.

Illyria tilted her head, nodded and walked out.

* * *

Absolutely ridiculous.

Illyria lay her head on the hard gravel. It would seem the only place she had to go was the street, sleeping in an alley like a beggar.

It was ridiculous, she fumed. When she ruled, she would have torn out the heart of those who dared to cast her aside and wear it as a medal.

But she could not bring herself to hurt him. The foolish human who could not let go, who insisted on loving this...shell.

Perhaps it bothered her more that as much as she tried, she could not comfort him. The only person who could offer comfort was gone. She had taken her from him.

She stood up, the need for sleep abandoning her. She needed to walk, to think.

This world, it was not what it once was. When she ruled, everything and everyone had it's place. There were her kind, and the lower beings who served them. Humans did not exist, and therefore neither did things such as love or empathy, or sadness and anger. The world had been just so, nothing more or less. There was only royalty and servants. No ridiculous boxes that humans are so keen on living in either. Mountains and plains went on for miles. Walls did not exist, rather pillars held up the roof of the kingdom. There was space to roam, space to breathe. Some might say it was a simpler, easier time.

Now, the air is putrid with the stench of chemicals. Transportation machines caused as many annoyances as they were made to prevent. Humans have built boxes to hide away in, and everyone walks around like zombies on their hand held boxes- didn't Wesley call them... cell phones?

Illyria sat on the top of Wesley's apartment building and watched the stars turn into the sunrise, all while contemplating the changed world.

* * *

Illyria knocked on Wesley's apartment door. "Wesley, let me in"

After a minute, the door opened and a hungover, unshaven Wesley opened the door. "You came back"

"I did" she said simply before entering, not even waiting for him to step aside."You need to come with me"

"Why?" he asked, a hard edge to his voice.

"Because I can rip you in half for not complying" she threatened.

He shrugged. "Wouldn't completely mind, honestly"

She tilted her head. "If life is not a valuable motivator to you, what about if I told you that I had a message from Fred?"

"Then I would call you a lying bitch" he grumbled.

"I went to her apartment last night" she stated.

Wesley looked at her angrily. "You had _NO_ right-"

"I went to her apartment and found the note she left for you" she cut him off. "You need to come with me"

Illyria walked out, assuming he would follow. He did.

They walked inside. Wesley's eyes filled with tears as he looked into her room.

"The letter is in the bedroom. I will be outside" she notified him before walking out.

Wesley slowly walked into her bedroom. It still smelled like her. He hadn't had the heart to pack up her things. Not yet.

He picked up the note. It was easy to spot. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before, though with everything that had happened it probably wasn't so strange.

He sat on her bed as he read.

 _Dear Wes,_

 _If you're reading this, I'm probably long gone and this Illyria (it's Illyria, right?) is in my body. I want you to know that I know you did all you could. There was always a chance I wouldn't make it, even if you'd have me think otherwise. My only regret is not telling you my feelings sooner. Maybe we could have gotten more time together. I love you, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I'd like to think you love me too. I guess now i'll never know. What I do know is that you're probably hurting a whole lot, and feeling like giving up. Don't. I know it's hard, I know it's easier to numb the pain but you have to keep fighting. Whatever's coming, it's big and we all need you. Don't let me die in vain. My love, you are the strongest person I know. You can do this. I believe in you. I always have. I love you. Be strong and fight, for me, okay? Do it for me. Goodbye my love._

 _Yours forever,_

 _Fred xo_

Tears fell onto the letter as Wesley read it. He read it over and over, memorizing every line, every word, even her style of handwriting. God, he missed her so much. But she was right. He had to keep fighting. If for nothing else, then for her.

He put the letter in his pocket and took a minute to smell her blanket. It still smelled like her. He decided to fold it up and take it with him.

"Did you find the experience worthwhile?" Illyria asked as he walked out into the hallway.

Wesley nodded. "It was... comforting."

"I am pleased that you found comfort" Illyria nodded once.

* * *

It had helped, she noted. Wesley had suspicions at first, that she herself had planted the note there. But after both pointing out and demonstrating that she did not have the same handwriting as the previous owner of this vessel, he seemed satisfied.

He went back to work regularly after this, dragging her along as well. Wesley began to see her as Illyria instead of Fred, though his fascination with her was clearly still because she looked like her. As Angel had put it once, it was a little creepy. And yet, she did not care all that much.

She did care about him, though. And she was no longer afraid to say this aloud.


End file.
